


Ardent

by bettervillains



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7676629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettervillains/pseuds/bettervillains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her hunt for tenure, Erin Gilbert is sent to retrieve a professional and character reference from an existing member of faculty. After searching for a professor who could serve as a perfect source of knowledge and tailored compliments and coming up empty, she winds up in the engineering department, seeking out the elusive, erratic Professor J. Holtzmann.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Occasioned Pain

**Author's Note:**

> A slight derailment off the plot. Basically, main characters as professors, grad assistants, and other staff. Perhaps some ghost related discussion. 
> 
> This is just the prologue, but if I post I'm held accountable :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenure. Tenure. Tenure.

"A what?"

"A faculty recommendation," Harold Filmore's voice had never sounded more like the drone of a worker bee, "Two parts — professional and character. And not from within your department."

Erin Gilbert's heart sank. She only had one, _maybe_ two professors in the physics department she could even consider asking. But outside of the department? Zilch. 

"And then... That's it? Tenure?"

"Tenure," Filmore replied. "Pending board approval."

Gilbert nodded. "Piece of cake." 

Filmore's eyes narrowed. 

"I do hope you take this more seriously than your application interview."

Erin gulped. Her friends has all told her the costume was a bad idea... but Newton and the apple was a founding principle of modern physics, after all, and she couldn't have anticipated —

"I'd like to apologize again, and I sincerely hope that the chairman —"

"He has a perfectly capable dentist," Filmore interrupted, rising from his seat, "You focus on proving you're a perfectly capable professor."

Gilbert stood, began to extend her hand to shake. When Filmore didn't move, she turned awkwardly and headed for the door. 

"And Dr. Gilbert?"

She turned back, eyes wide. The tower of a man looked more and more like the desolate chief of some violent, medieval clan with every passing breath. 

"No. Screw-ups."

Gilbert nodded, fingers trembling around the doorknob. 

"Not even screw-downs, sir," she paused blinked, "Um —"

He sighed, wearily, pinching his nose, and Erin took that as her cue to turn tail and run before he changed his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "THAT'S IT? IT'S TEN WORDS LONG!" — a greedy friend
> 
> We'll get to the good stuff, cross my heart.


	2. General Incivility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motorcycles. Misunderstandings. Missteps.

"Screw-downs?"

"Yeah," Erin mumbled, face buried in her arms. 

"You said that. To Filmore's face. You said screw-downs."

Erin lifted her head. Patricia Tolan, with two PhDs in history and anthropology and a handful of research studies under her belt, had a supreme talent for understanding a concept the first time through. Seldom did she repeat a question, save for when she was making a point. 

"No one likes a smarty pants, Patty."

Patty shrugged, leaning back in her chair. The office, with its sweeping ceilings and comfortable couch, was without a doubt the most comfortable hiding place one could imagine. As a result, Patty never seemed to let anyone off easy.

"You would know. Houndstooth skirt, third time in a week? Might have to do a service to society and burn that fucker."

Erin flinched, hurled a pillow across the room at her.

"Patty!"

But the woman only laughed, tossing her head in a way that Erin couldn't help but laugh at, too. 

"You gotta learn to lighten up, Gilbert. You work too hard, teach too much... when was the last time you went out?"

"I had brunch with the phys —"

"No. No weekend starts with brunch. That's what it ends with. Preferably naked. In someone's bed." Patty smirked, "Or in your case, on their desk?"

Patty laughed again, until the second pillow made contact directly with her nose.

"All I'm saying," Patty said, stretching as she crossed over to the couch, "Is that you need to find your niche. I can only help you so much, what with —"

"The subway study, I know."

Erin sighed. Patty took a notepad from the desk, scrawled out a name and an address.

"Here. You want a shining reference from a local genius? That'll do it."

Erin squinted. "J. Hol— that doesn't even look like a real name. Can't you just do it for me?"

Patty ripped the note off the pad, held it out. Erin pouted, and Patty ruffled her hair.

"Would if I could, but only peers can recommend, not department chairs. You know that." 

By the time Patty had pulled herself to her feet, Erin had set her teeth, resolved herself.

"You better not be setting me up, Tolan."

Patty smiled sweetly, then smacked her hip with a laugh. "Scout's honor."

As Erin waved her off and made her way out the door, Patty clicked her teeth. 

Girl would never see it coming. 

The garage was down the block from the university's main campus, and as clouds darkened overhead Erin frowned, tugging her blazer tighter around her chest. 

"Professor Holtzmann, sir," she practiced, altering her tone slightly as she reached for the door to knock —

It was ajar. Her forehead crinkled in that distinctive way which indicated a curiosity, a case she couldn't wait to solve...

She nudged the door open with her shoulder and slipped inside. 

The corridor was cold, damp, and dark. A distant dripping sound only added to the horror that crept up her spine as she took the hallway one step at a time, her neud heels clacking on the uneven cement. 

"Fuck —"

Erin stopped in her tracks. That couldn't be — 

"Harder. You need to —"

"I know what I'm doing I — it's not just that it's slippery too —"

"Put your back into it, Christ —"

A low groan, and then there was only the creaking of steel, smacking against something solid —

Something warm and ashamed took root in the pit of Erin's stomach. Whatever she was moving towards, it would be untoward to continue. And yet...

Erin took another step, "H-hello?"

As she made her way around the corner, the air left her lungs, surging back in as a breath of relief. 

Two women, one of them tall and broad shouldered, the other shorter with a mop of erratic, blonde hair, were crouched around a motorbike, wrenches and grease rags in hand. The creaking metal in question appeared to be the exhaust pipe of the bike, half rusted and hanging off of it at an angle. 

"I don't think we'll get it to budge —" the tall one fell silent at the sight of Erin, blinked, and stood up straight. "Can we help you?"

Erin's mouth opened, but no words followed. 

The blonde smiled, cocked a brow. 

"Would it help if I were naked?"

The taller woman gawked. "Holtzmann!"

They both devolved into fits of giggling. Erin, shocked, managed to hold up the paper with Holtzmann's name. 

"Dr. Tolan sent me." 

"Patty? What a peach. Whatcha need?"

Erin took a step further into the garage, but her heel caught in a slick of oil, and she found herself falling to the ground before she could even think of catching herself. Her rear hit the ground with an unceremonious thunk and squelch of oil. 

The women tried to refrain from laughing — she could see that as she stood, heels resisting purchase on the dirty ground, desperately trying to steady herself, to regain decorum. 

"I..." Erin swallowed, cheeks growing hot, until at last she huffed, "Never mind," turned on her heel, and stomped away. 

Try as she might to ignore it, Erin could hear them laughing all the way down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly too into slapstick comedy for my one good sometimes...
> 
> But we do have fun, don't we?


	3. An Unhappy Alternative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skin. Sweat. Substitutes.

Jennifer Lynch winced as the bed groaned loudly, then groaned herself as the lips buried in her neck gave way to teeth. 

For all the scientific advances that Holtzmann had taken advantage of, she still refused to swap out her boxspring for something made of foam and air and sleep numbers. There was only one real reason behind it — she liked how her bed sounded when she had someone else in it, quivering under her lips and smirks and fingertips. 

Jenn knew that. Holtzmann hadn't told her, but she'd figured it out three or four "planning meetings" ago, when Holtzmann practically gasped in a husky breath at the blended cacophony of tight coils and muffled moans. 

At this moment, however, Holtzmann was eerily silent, fingers tracing over Jenn's thigh before moving upwards in an almost businesslike manner. 

"Holtz," she murmured, nudging a leg up between her thighs, pressing until she felt the swell of her breath sharpen in the small of her back, fingertips curling to pull her closer. "I —"

She sighed. Not like this meant anything. Or was ever meant to mean anything. Just two professionals in their prime, blowing off steam... but a wistful, quiet Holtz gnawed at her. And not in a good way.

"Never mind." 

Holtz stiffened under her hands, and Jenn drew in a staggered breath as her fingers curled sharply, thumb on the trigger. 

Realization hit Jenn like a burst of proton discharge. She'd always been intuitive, and now —

"You're thinking about her," she said, slowly, throat suddenly dry enough that she had to swallow before she continued, "You're fucking me, and you're thinking about her." 

Holtz let out the tiniest sound, some grunt into Jenn's skin that wasn't affirmative enough to be insulting, nor negative enough to be comforting. 

Jenn bit her ear. Hard. And relished the yelp it drew from the engineer. 

"You're lucky that's just hot enough to keep me here," she murmured, tugging at Holtz's hips until she was grinding against her thigh. "The thought of you tearing that ridiculous blazer apart with your teeth, ruining that perfectly combed hair —"

Holtz's hips jerked. Her fingers rippled, strong, smooth, delicate — Jenn's back arched, and she went on mumbling hypotheticals until they broke down into obscenities, until they —

"Until — fuck —" 

Holtz kissed her, and Jenn knew it was to keep her quiet, to trade one illusion for another. She took it out on Holtz's hands, on the one pinning down her wrist, on the other buried between her thighs, stealing for a moment that moment which she had a sinking feeling she would not take pleasure in again —

She came down from the high of it all just soon enough to realize that Holtz was coming, too. 

They lay silent, tangled in the stillness of the aftermath for the space of a few labored breaths before Holtzmann rolled off of her, sprawled out on her side, facing the opposite wall. 

Jenn was a genius, by most definitions, but even a lesser mind could have seen it. She had been waiting for those bright, erratic eyes to wander since they'd met. Entropy, after all, demanded it, and they were both so twined in the science of living that it could not — _would not, must not_ — be denied. 

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again at the slow, even pace of Holtzmann's breathing. Whether she was feigning sleep or actually passed out, Jenn couldn't say. And honestly? 

She didn't really want to know. 

"Fair enough," she murmured, rolling away from Holtzmann, and letting her two far too dutiful eyes at last drift shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat last night for like half an hour trying to figure out what to write. I woke up this morning and knew. 
> 
> (Jennifer Lynch is, actually, a character from the film. Check the cast.)


	4. An Affectation of Candour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booze. Billiards. Button downs.

It only took three drinks to get Erin Gilbert drunk. 

She'd had seven. 

Half of the eighth sloshed onto the bar when "Benny and the Jets" came on, crooning out from the bar's jukebox, leaving Erin swaying on her barstool, Patty snickering as she massacred the lyrics. 

"How you feelin'?"

"Like," Erin announced, "Like a lot of deer."

Patty's forehead creased. 

"A million bucks," Erin giggled, and Patty reached over, taking the glass away from her even as Erin whined. 

"Yeah, you're done, Gilbert."

"I'm fide," Erin squinted. " _Fine..._ "

Patty followed her eyeline, across the bar, over to a pool table in the corner, where a tall colossus of a man was aiming at the cue ball. He looked up, smiled at Patty —

"Oh my god he smiled," Erin gasped, "Oh my god he has teeth I didn't think he'd have _teeth_!"

She wobbled to her feet, and Patty reached out to grab her. 

"I'm good. It's good. I'm gonna go get a piece of that."

Patty laughed. "Yeah?"

"Fuck it. Right? That's what you always say, fuck it. Fuck 'em. I'm gonna go get a slice of  
manhunk over there." 

Patty gawked as Erin swayed, blazer ditched three drinks ago but still in a skirt and button down. Hopeless professor look. No good for bar talk. Patty reached forward and loosened a couple of buttons, removed her hair tie, splayed the waves of chestnut hair across her shoulders — 

"There. Go get 'em," Patty nodded, sitting back to watch. 

Erin sauntered across the bar, stumbling now and again. 

"Hey, sailor," she slurred, "Need some help with your aim?"

"Uh, no, not really, I'm pretty good with a cue."

Erin nearly moaned, teeth sinking into her lip. That accent... It was enough to make her stomach flip. 

Or... Maybe it wasn't the accent... Her stomach lurched again, hand darting to her mouth — but it was too late.

The first wave of nausea materialized instantly, hitting him directly on his slightly wrinkled white tee. Erin groaned, gripped the pool table for support as he took several steps back —

And suddenly there were arms, slipping under her waist, walking her towards the restroom, into a stall —

"God, Patty, I threw up on him," she mewled, keeling over the toilet as she heaved again. Fingers gathered her hair, holding it back.

"I — ugh — tell me I'm not hopeless."

"Patty had to go," came the reply, and when Erin tried to turn to see who it was the nausea coiled in her stomach again, and she gripped the toilet desperately. Her mind spun —

She found herself sitting back against the stall wall, the woman dabbing at her mouth with a wet paper towel, rubbing the small of her back. 

"Where do you live?"

But Erin was sighing, curling into her like a neglected animal, forehead pressed into her shoulder. 

The woman sighed. "Couch it is, then." 

After that, the night blurred into a haze of half memories — someone carrying her to a car, buckling her in, up to an apartment, and onto a couch. Her head hit the pillow, and everything went black. 

When Erin awoke, it was with a bulldozer breaking ground in her brain. She groaned, reached out for the glass of water left on the coffee table, taking small sips until she was certain her stomach wouldn't betray her again. 

Her eyes scanned the room. She didn't recognize it, certainly wasn't Patty's... had she gone home with someone? The pool player? Her nose wrinkled as she remembered the incident. Definitely not him...

"Come here often?"

She glanced up, frozen. Standing over the back of the couch with a plate was —

"Oh," Erin groaned, "That's... Just excellent."

"I don't believe we've been formally introduced," the woman smiled, setting the plate of toast on the coffee table. "Jillian Holtzmann." 

Erin took hold of the trash can next to her and threw up. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drink responsibly, friends.


	5. On the Subject of Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heave. Ho. Handcuffs.

With a squeak of the pipes, hot water coursed out of the shower-head and over Erin’s head and shoulders. She pressed her forehead into the tile wall, groaning.

How had this happened? Had she really had that much to drink? She remembered sauntering past Patty, and then — a wave of nausea overtook her and she groaned, shivering…

Worst. Hangover. _Ever._

And now she was in an almost stranger's shower in that almost stranger's apartment, a woman who had laughed and teased and — she shook her head. Flirted was too strong a word, but that day in the garage had felt... 

A knock at the bathroom door made her jump.

“Y-yeah?”

“Dr. Gilbert, yeah, it’s…” a pause, as Holtzmann cleared her throat, “Well, you know. I have some stuff for you and I’m — well, I’ll just leave it by the sink.”

The door cracked open, and Holtzmann’s arm snuck through, leaving a pile on the counter. Erin bit her lip.

The engineer had been nothing but quiet and kind since she’d woken up — bringing her water, holding back her hair when she’d thrown up again, even offering to wash her clothes when she’d — 

Her stomach lurched again. She clutched at it and sighed, letting the water run over her. 

When at last her stomach settled, she coaxed her sore body out of the shower, drying herself off with the towel and —

_Oh._

Underneath the towel, a pair of flannel pants and a NASA t-shirt were waiting for her. She lifted the shirt over her head, breathed in deep… leather, smoky citrus, and dark tea. It sent a very different shiver up her spine, one that she shook off, pulling the flannels over her hips.

The blinds in the living room were shut, the lights turned down low. Erin toyed with the drawstring of the pants, wandering out.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” called Holtzmann, from the kitchen, “Make yourself at home, I’ll be right out.”

Erin sat, awkwardly, on the couch, tucking her legs up under her. When Holtzmann at last emerged from the kitchen, she brought with her another plate of toast, some peanut butter and —

“Bananas? Always helps me.”

Erin smiled. “Elvis fan?”

"Where I learned all my sweet dance moves."

Holtzmann gestured to the spot next to her — asking permission, Erin realized, in her own home — and Erin nodded. Holtzmann sat, fidgeting with a stray thread on the couch. 

"Your clothes are in the wash. Gonna be an hour or so until they're done."

"Thank you." 

They sat in silence while Erin took a small bite, chewed, swallowed —

"Look, I..." Holtzmann cleared her throat. "I'm sorry about the other day. In the garage. Where you totally made a fool of yourself." 

Erin stiffened. "You were a jerk." 

"Yeah. I should have helped you up and... I just wanted to... Yeah." 

"You were showing off and I was already having a rotten day, and —" Erin felt her stomach tighten, agitated, clutched at her forehead and sat back with a groan, "Whatever." 

"You should probably get some more sleep." 

Erin shook her head. "Horizontal gives me the spins." 

When she looked up at Holtzmann again, the woman actually seemed concerned. She reached for a pillow, set it against her shoulder, and patted it. After a moment's hesitation, coaxed by her aching eyes, Erin leaned down and relaxed into it. 

She could smell that delicate, rustic blend she'd found in the shirt, blended with the coconut of her own shampoo. It was altogether divine — she sighed deeply when Holtzmann reached over her to drape a blanket. 

She drifted off quickly, but not before wondering what had happened to Patty, and if she had called for Holtzmann to take her home. 

If she dreamed, it was a haze of bergamot and motor oil, tequila and banana, swirled together past any hope of clear memory. By the time her eyes flickered open again, one thing had become abundantly clear: 

She wasn't resting against Holtzmann's shoulder anymore — her fingers were curled into her shirt, head pressed against her chest, bodies almost entirely prone. 

She heard the flick of a page, glanced over — the engineer was reading some cooking magazine. When she drew in a deep, audible breath, it caught Holtzmann's attention. 

"Oh. Hello."

Erin grunted, pulled her head back enough to meet her eyes. 

"You kinda..." Holtzmann cleared her throat, "Pushed me down." 

"Don't remember." 

"Yeah it was... it's fine." 

Erin shifted, feeling the friction of her tangled legs in Holtzmann's, the comforting weight of the blanket over them. She looked up. Holtzmann was staring at her, some borderline warmth Erin couldn't have predicted somewhere behind her eyes...

She almost wished — and then, as if she'd read her mind, the engineer reached up, stroking her cheek, leaning gently in...

Erin's head spun, heart pounding — it was all too much, almost enough to make her nauseous. 

No. Exactly enough. 

She turned, awkwardly, desperately, seizing the trash can and vomiting into it. She heard Holtzmann sigh, felt her hands rubbing her back before gathering up her hair as she coughed and threw up again. 

"I'm gonna go check on your clothes."

Erin cringed as Holtzmann carefully de tangled herself, and wiped her mouth on a napkin from the coffee table. 

"Thank you," she called, weakly. No way would Holtzmann be writing her recommendation now. She sighed. 

If she'd been in better spirits, it might not have been what bothered her. 

When she stood by the door, fully dressed and somewhat presentable, Erin offered her hand. Holtzmann glanced at it, eyebrow raised, but she shook it all the same. 

"Thank you, Dr. Holtzmann," Erin announced, "For your hospitality." 

"Yeah, 'course." 

The touch lingered, a long, slow squeeze of palms and slender fingers, before they both released. Erin gave a quick nod, then turned on her heel and headed for the elevator. 

She felt, somewhere in the back of her mind, almost instinctively, that Holtzmann was watching her go. 

Patty's apartment was locked (rude), so she hammered her fist against the door until the tower of a woman cracked it open. 

"What's up?"

"What's up?" Erin echoed, indignant, "You left me hammered at a bar! I went home with a stranger!"

"Ah, nice!"

"No! Not nice!" Erin shouldered her way into the apartment, glancing at Patty, who was wrapped in a robe. "And so did you, I see." 

Patty shrugged. "I left you with a friend, knew you'd be all right." 

"I threw up in her apartment. Like, four times. That's not all right." 

Patty wrinkled her nose. "She's cool, though, right? A little cocky, a little weird, but sweet —"

Erin gawked, as realization hit her like a ton of bricks. "You were trying to set me up." 

Patty raised her hands, smug. "Guilty." 

"I'm taking my humidifier back," Erin sniffed, charging towards the bedroom. She heard the distant shout of Patty trying to stop her, ignored it, wrenched open the door —

There was a man on Patty's bed. Naked, but for a blanket draped over his waist. She squinted. It was the man from the bar, wrists and ankles clamped to the headboards —

"Hello," he called, with a restrained wave. 

She slammed the door shut, leaned back against it. Patty bit her lip. 

"You know I love the big dumb ones, and his ass is —"

Erin held up her hand, and Patty fell silent. 

"I," Erin said slowly, "Am going home, getting into bed, and forgetting this weekend ever happened."

"But —" 

" _Ever,_ " Erin repeated, sternly. " _Happened._ "

She strode past Patty and out the door, closing it behind her. 

Patty sighed, shaking her head, then turned towards the bedroom door, pulling it open to look inside. 

"Want some water, Kent?"

"It's Kevin, actu —" 

"Yeah, don't care. Water?" 

He nodded, and she shut the door again before making her way to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who wondered what happened to Patty...


	6. An Indirect Boast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caffeinated. Conflicted. Crunched.

Erin Gilbert, ever the scientist, lifted the mug to her lips, tested it, and drank deeply, leaning back into the red vinyl of the booth with a sigh. 

It was comforting to know that one natural law existed without complex mathematics, and it was this: there were no improprieties, between the swirling cosmos and the earth’s molten core, that brunch at Abby’s Diner couldn’t fix. 

“And here we are, a Tatooine with a slab of hamster, side of Roman fiddle.”

Erin wrinkled her nose, “Do you have to say it like that, Abs?”

Abby shrugged, sliding into the booth across from her. “My place, my rules.”

Erin glanced down at the plate of sunny side up eggs, hamsteak, and triangles of almost burnt toast, if only for a moment, before setting to work inhaling it. 

“Yeesh. For a lab monkey you sure can eat.”

“Need the protein,” Erin gulped.

Abby held up her hands, smirked, and intoned, “ _Amino_ offense by it.”

Erin choked on a corner of toast, coughing loudly as Abby pushed a glass of water towards her. 

When she’d recovered, she could only laugh along. They’d become entangled in their particularly scientific brand of friendship in high school, a thrill for combining the known elements of the universe in order to explore the unknown which pointed them in different paths when the time came for university: Erin towards a physics program, and Abby towards culinary school. Despite her preference of spider burners to bunsen burners, however, Abby had never missed a beat when it came to the jokes. 

Erin smiled, broadly, and prodded the yolk of one the eggs till it broke. 

“So what is it this time?”

Erin looked up. “Hm?”

Abby clicked her tongue, poking at her mug. “You really only ever drink three cups of coffee when you’re crunching numbers.”

Erin glanced down at the mug. “It’s not… numbers this time.”

Abby raised a brow. 

“There’s, um,” Erin chewed on her lip. She’d imagined saying it, murmured it half a dozen ways to her pillow the night before, but never to family, never to friends close enough to her heart to be family, _more_ than family, never to Abby…

“Erin?”

A warmth trailed over her knuckles, and she glanced up again. Abby was touching her hand, concern lingering at the corner of her eyes, the dimple in her cheek as she smiled, reassuring — Erin drew a deep breath, letting out a weak exhale in the direction of a strand of long hair. Abby reached over, tucked it behind her ear. 

“There’s this girl,” she muttered at last. 

Abby paused for all of a nanosecond before leaning back into her seat again, hand resting near Erin’s.

“Anyone I know?”

Erin's chest relaxed, and she shook her head, then considered for a moment. 

“Well, maybe. I guess it’s possible. You seem to know everyone, and she’s…” Erin let out a short huff. “Eccentric.”

“It’s not Patty, is it?”

“No, no, not Patty… friend of Patty’s, though. Blonde, engineer, maddening…”

Abby rubbed her chin, brain flicking through a mental rolodex, then shrugged, focused on Erin again. 

“And you like her?”

Erin rolled her eyes. “She’s irritating. As hell.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Bit of a player.”

“That’s a maybe.”

“And she doesn’t — she, like, she keeps… I just wanted to have a normal talk with her and…”

Erin crumpled an innocent ball of atmosphere between shaking fingers before letting them relax, sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose… what could she do but succumb to the truth of the matter? Science demanded it, after all, and she'd dedicated her life to obeying those laws — bending them, on occasion, but never breaking...

“I just…” Erin continued at last, reaching for her mug, draining it, then sighed again, and murmured, “I just can’t get her out of my head.”

The clinking of plates and low chatter of other patrons seeped into the dense silence between them, and Abby leaned back in her seat, ran a hand through her hair, bound in a messy bun...

“Ah,” Abby mused, “That’s a yes.”

Erin set her mug on the table again. 

“Yeah,” she huffed in reply. “Yeah, I guess that's a yes.”

Abby scooted out of the booth and grabbed for a steaming coffee pot on the counter, filling Erin’s mug and one of her own. When she sat again, Abby’s eyes were bright, flaring with a light that Erin had seen reserved for salted caramel creme brûlée and jalapeño cornbread, for delicate gnocchi and Mississippi mud — and yes, even for particle physics and quantum theory. 

“Well, then, m’dear,” said Abby with a calculated grin, “Let’s crunch the numbers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your patience, folks, while I took a little break from writing. I've been watching a lot of Voyager, planning fics for that, and a lot of my life otherwise has kind of been in a madcap state of flux. Should settle just in the time for the new year. _Should._
> 
> Until then, I'll continue to keep as best a schedule as I can. Should be two more chapters of this, about this length or longer, and I'll keep trucking through my Carol fic (and I believe I owe someone a Holtzbert thunderstorm one shot???)


	7. A Rational Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verdict. Volatile. Verified.

"And do you know why you're here, Ms. Gilbert?"

She blinked, looking from the dean to Filmore, and back. He was dressed in all black, hair slicked back. Vampire? Probably, given the way he was going after her like a shark hunting for blood in the water. 

He wouldn't unsettle her. She was a rational creature, and his sexism and thousand dollar suit could choke on a pocket square and die.

"Doctor," she replied, quietly, firmly. 

"Pardon?"

"It's doctor, actually," she repeated, louder, "Dr. Gilbert." 

The dean blinked. 

"Yes. Right, well..."

He glanced down at the folder on his desk, flicking it open. 

"We're here to review your case for tenure. This isn't just any old school, you know." 

Erin nodded, knees pressed tightly together. The dean paused, glancing at Filmore, who shrugged. 

"You've received a highly complimentary letter from a Dr. Rebecca Gorin at MIT. Very complimentary. Almost hyperbolic, if I could believe her capable of that sort of thing." 

"Really?"

The dean slid the letter across the desk. A few words jumped out at her: _exemplary, innovative, revolutionary..._

"Wow," she murmured, reaching out to touch it. Before she could, the dean snapped it back, sliding it into the folder. 

"So I'd be remiss if I didn't offer you a permanent position here." 

Erin grinned, leaping to her feet, seizing the dean by the hand and shaking until he wrenched his hand back. 

"Dean Bradley, thank you so much, I promise you won't —" 

Filmore coughed, and Erin turned to him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, she knew from the look on his ordinarily stoic features, far too tightly as she shook it. 

"And you, Dr. Filmore, thank you a thousand —"

"Don't push it, Dr. Gilbert," he replied sternly, "I didn't send for it, anyhow." 

"You didn't?" She frowned. "Then —"

She turned, glancing at the letterhead of the page: 

_To Dean Theodore Bradley, care of Jillian Holtzmann_

Before either man could speak, or even think to stop her, Erin Gilbert was flying through the door, briefcase bouncing behind her as she stumbled over the threshold. 

She heard the horns honking as she jaywalked — fuck it, jay- _bolted_ down Main Street, down to the garage where she had first met that infuriating, insufferable, intoxicating engineer, back to the start of it all, heels clacking as she took the steps two at a time, the long hallway less intimidating, now, than the prospect of seeing her again, than the idea of what she would say —

Oh god. She hadn't even thought about that. Erin paused in the doorway, considered for a moment, then turned on her heel, away from the workbench, away from —

"Dr. Gilbert.”

Erin froze, then slowly turned back. Holtzmann, in a pair of overalls and a jade green shirt, stood over a heap of modified engine parts with a wrench in the loose grip of her long fingers. Erin swallowed. 

"I know you wrote to MIT."

Holtzmann twirled the wrench in her fingers and shrugged. 

"Gorin's a friend." 

Erin’s reply seemed to flit involuntarily from her lips, before she could consider any consequence: "Just a friend?"

Holtzmann raised a brow. Erin chose that moment to study the curve of Holtzmann's boots. 

"What's it to you?" 

"Nothing," Erin replied, too quickly, then added in a more steady tone, "I'm sorry I — it's not my business.”

She looked up and waited for Holtzmann to let her off the hook, but Holtzmann said nothing, staring. Erin cleared her throat and continued. 

“Just... I just came here to thank you." 

"Oh," Holtzmann shifted her weight, managed something akin to a sincere smile, "You're welcome." 

Erin nodded, coughed, then nodded again. After a moment, Holtzmann turned back to the mechanical chimera on her table, twirling the tool around a reluctant bolt. 

After a moment's internal debate, Erin stepped closer, running a hand over the shell of the mechanical heap. 

"What are you working on?" 

"Proton based energy. Clean, reusable... it's a little unstable right now, but that's part of the fun." 

"Sounds familiar," Erin murmured under her breath. 

Holtzmann looked up, and for a moment Erin thought she glimpsed the hint of some brand of vulnerability buried in the cocky lift of her brow.

Holtzmann opened her mouth to speak, when suddenly the machine began to whir, red lights igniting along the hull, smoke pouring from the seams —

“Get down!” Holtzmann shouted, and when Erin found herself planted, frozen in shock, Holtzmann leaped towards her, tackling her to the floor. 

The machine let out a lateral burst of teal energy, scorching the walls, before shuddering to a stop. Not that Erin noticed — it could have singed the hair off her scalp, for all she cared, because Holtzmann was sprawled on top of her, half crouched, and that green shirt was, _god_ really?, and her nose was inches away from Holtzmann’s, and her hands were on Holtzmann’s waist — when had she reached out and grabbed her? 

More importantly, when had she twined her leg around her thigh?

“You’re holding me,” Holtzmann murmured. 

“For safety,” Erin countered. “Rationality demands —”

“Safety,” Holtzmann chuckled, shifting her weight. “Sure.”

Erin blinked, eyes narrowing. 

“You’re the one who almost got us killed.”

“Not killed. Dismembered, maybe —“

“Shut up.”

Holtzmann gawked, voice taking on a distinctly Southern twang.

“Why, Dr. Gilbert, I surely have never —“

“No,” Erin muttered, threading her hand through Holtzmann’s hair and tugging her close. “Like, _really_ shut up.”

She let the engineer have a breath, even thought she heard a soft _oh_ on the exhale, before she tugged her down and kissed her. 

_Hard._

Harder than the woman expected, Erin supposed, at the grunt that rattled against her teeth, body squirming to get closer. Her grip tightened on Holtzmann’s waist, fingers trailing over — geez, over surprisingly smooth skin…

“What do you use on this, aloe? Radiation?”

“Shut up,” Holtzmann muttered, and Erin grinned as she leaned down to tug a lip between her teeth, groaning when Holtzmann flicked her tongue over the curve —

The machine on the table whined, then powered down. Erin tilted her head to look at it.

“One hell of a wingman.”

“You have no idea.”

Erin frowned. Holtzmann, eyes wide, shook her head, backpedalling.

“I mean —”

Erin tugged on Holtzmann’s hair, and the woman yelped. 

“Quit while you’re ahead.”

Holtzmann smirked. “What’s that about head?”

Erin rolled her eyes, detangling herself, shoving Holtzmann down onto her back.

“Nope.”

“Erin— ” 

“Changed my mind.”

“Nooooo,” Holtzmann called, following her to her feet, tugging on her elbow. “I was kidding, Gilbert, wait —”

Erin ran her fingers over the instruments on the table, selecting a pair of scissors, and within seconds had whirled on her heel, snipping the straps holding up Holtzmann’s overalls.

“There. Payback.”

Holtzmann gawked as the overalls fell away, snatching the hem of the pants before they could fall to the floor. One glance told Erin there was very little underneath. 

“Rude!’ Holtzmann spluttered, “My favorite pair and you —“

If Erin heard, she made no note of it, stepping close and running her fingertips over the surprising pack of muscle concealed in Holtzmann’s abdomen. Holtzmann’s voice trailed off into nothing, glancing down at Erin’s hands. A little hum rumbled through Erin’s throat, pleased, and so unlike her that it registered trace amounts of alarm and insecurity, and she drew her hands away, thrusting her hands in her blazer pockets. 

“Dinner,” Erin said, slowly, “My place. 8:00?”

It wasn’t a question. She turned on her heel before Holtzmann could reply —

“So you just _ruin_ my pants, and then walk out?”

Erin waved her hand, knuckles rippling.

“Don’t be late.”

She heard the throaty echoes of Holtzmann’s laughter follow her all the way down the hallway, felt them coiling like a den of vipers in the pit of her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Smut next chapter, promise))


	8. Insensibility of Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner. Disaster. Dresser.

Erin glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:56. She drew a deep breath, then snorted a laugh, shaking her head.

Literally counting down the minutes? PhD be damned — she might as well be in high school again, the way she was acting. And yet…

Erin tugged the oven mitts off her hands, tossed them on the counter, and wandered towards the apartment’s front door. 

And yet, it’s not like she minded.

“Stupid, so absolutely…” she laughed quietly, then leaned in through the peephole. 

Across the hall from her front door, Jillian Holtzmann was leaning against the wall, one leg crooked to prop against the wall, staring at her watch. 

Erin blinked, bit her lip, and opened the door. Holtzmann’s head snapped up. 

“I was…” she seemed almost flustered, “I was going to be right on time.”

“And so you are,” said Erin, smiling. “Come on in. I can take your coat.”

Holtzmann shrugged out of her coat, offering it to Erin. Erin flicked her eyes over the outfit — a dark grey vest and matching pants, set off by a pinstriped button down, altogether not too different from the grey slacks and blouse Erin had chosen to wear. 

“Nice.” 

“Thanks,” Holtzmann muttered, shoving her hands in her pockets. Was she nervous? Erin's heart thrummed at the thought. “What are we having?”

“Pasta. That work for you?”

"Like the proletariat in a post-war Soviet Union."

Erin, blinked, stifled a laugh. 

"Uh, make yourself at home," she replied, making her way towards the kitchen again. 

She didn't realize Holtzmann had followed her until she was reaching up for the strainer hanging on the wall, and Holtzmann tickled her ribs. 

"If you want to eat, you gotta let me work." 

"Fair enough," Holtzmann murmured, fingers trailing over her sides. 

Erin drew in a deep breath, setting the strainer in the sink, lifting the pot of water over the strainer just as Holtzmann pressed a long kiss against her neck. 

It sent sparks flying across her skin — unsurprising, since nearly everything about Holtzmann made her feel like she'd gripped a live wire and let it course through her. 

“That’s… Holtzmann —“

“Hm?”

Erin groaned, head tilting back as Holtzmann’s lips found their way to her earlobe, teeth grazing —

When she bit down, Erin jumped, dragging the pot of hot water with her and dumping a considerable amount down the front of her pants.

“Fuck,” she hissed, stumbling back as Holtzmann grabbed the pot, setting it roughly on the stove. Erin's back hit the counter behind her, patting desperately at her slacks with a towel, barely aware of the sounds of Holtzmann rummaging in the freezer, “Ow, fuck, that burns —”

“Move your hands,” Holtzmann insisted, voice steady, and Erin complied, breathing hard.

Her breath quickened when Holtzmann tugged the clasps of her slacks apart, dragging them down her legs with a quiet, “Wider,” which Erin obeyed, fingers gripping the countertop as she angled her thighs apart. The skin of her left thigh was an angry crimson, and Holtzmann wasted no time in pressing an icepack wrapped in a towel to the burn. Erin shuddered, glancing down at Holtzmann, who looked up, penitent.

“I’m…” the engineer bit her lip, “Really, really, really sorry.”

Erin nodded, huffing out a breath. “Didn’t mean to,” she sighed, shifting to press the ice more firmly against her leg. “I understand that.”

Holtzmann sat back on her haunches. 

"Not the way I pictured getting you out of your pants, but..."

Erin pushed on her forehead, watching as Holtzmann floundered like a beached whale, balance entirely lost, and hit the floor with a thud. 

"Ow," Holtzmann groaned. 

"I'm going to go change." 

She made it all the way to the door before glancing back at Holtzmann, still crumpled on the floor. 

"I said I’m…” she bit her lip, kicking her pants the rest of the way off. Standing there, bare legged, she continued slowly, “ _Going to go change._ ” 

Holtzmann's eyes widened.

"You, uh…” Holtzmann’s tongue flicked out, licking her lips, and Erin repressed a shiver. “Think you might need any help with that?" 

Erin smiled. "I just might." 

 

Erin had tidied her bedroom in advance, tugged the comforter taut and tucked it beneath the mattress, arranged all the knick-knacks and various awards in a picture perfect manner. She wasn’t sure exactly what she expected to happen, but the half-stumbled saunter of Holtz’s footsteps behind her gave her some idea…

“Shorts are in the top drawer, if you wouldn’t mind —” she began, turning to face Holtz, but if Holtz heard her she gave no notice, pressing Erin back into the dresser with a hard kiss.

The shocked squeak from Erin’s lips was swallowed in another kiss, hands working their way into Holtzmann’s hair, breathing hard as she pressed against her, relishing the heat at her front and the solid, sturdy dresser at her back. The pegs dug into the small of her back, but she didn’t mind so much, not when Holtzmann was so close, eyes closed as if in a dream — she tugged the glasses from off Holtzmann’s nose, and tossed them somewhere nearby, thumbing the hollows just below her ears, legs tangling as she began to lose her balance, grasping the dresser for support. 

It was a low enough surface that Holtzmann lifted her with ease and set her on the edge, pressing her back against the wall. She was vaguely aware of hairbrushes, bottles, a picture frame or two clattering to the floor, but the sound was distant, dim under the thrum of her pulse, the blood roaring in her ears… silent compared to the grate of Holtzmann’s groan against her lips. 

“Holtz,” she murmured. “I…”

Holtzmann tugged her lip from between Erin’s teeth, met her eyes.

“I… I really did intend for us to have dinner.”

Holtzmann raised a brow. 

“Are you telling me to stop?”

Erin shook her head, “I’m telling you this wasn’t all… like, a ruse, or anything.”

Holtzmann smiled, wry. “Wouldn’t care if it was.”

Erin bit her lip, and wrapped her legs tightly around Holtz’s waist. When Holtzmann kissed her again, she let her hips cant forward, grinding in until her head tipped back and Holtz could leave marks down her throat. 

She did. Erin sighed, a throaty sound clouded with a haze of, blessedly, no influence but her own mind, the chemicals in her brain exploding like fireworks, in celebration, elation —

“Bed,” Holtz muttered, husky, so quiet it really shouldn’t have registered as a sound at all. 

But Erin only shook her head, “Can’t wait that long.”

“Two feet?”

“Too long,” Erin murmured, sinking her teeth into Holtz’s ear, fingers tugging Holtz’s vest apart, shedding her shirt. 

She reached for the clasps of Holtz’s pants, but the engineer’s fingers had worked their way into her button down, lips sneaking down her collarbone, fingers tracing over ribs, waist, hips… her mind was foggy, any sense of reasonable process lost in the brush of Holtzmann’s maelstrom of blond hair brushing against her chin, throat, chest —

She marked her breasts, too, one after the other, as if testing for conditioned response, and Erin cried out, louder than she intended — everything, always, with Holtzmann was different, louder, _more_ than she intended —

She had learned not to care. Quite the opposite.

“Please,” she groaned, “I can’t —“

 _Wait,_ she would have said, if Holtzmann hadn’t complied, hadn’t worked a strong, slender hand between her thighs, under the band of her underwear, wasting no time to tear them away, no time for teasing, save for exploration, celebration, elation —

Erin had kissed before, coupled before, even made love before — but not like this, not _fucked_ like this. Nothing like this, nothing so tense, no staunch slickly sweet suffering that demanded to be soothed with kisses and tender touches, canting hips and wandering lips, trailing teeth and tongue and fingertips —

“Jesus,” Erin gasped when Holtz curled her fingers, tugging them just far enough free to elicit a whimper of a whine from Erin, before thrusting roughly, teeth scraping over her breast, bra tugged halfway to hell, hanging off Erin’s shoulders — across the room, Erin caught a glimpse in the full length mirror, the arch of Holtzmann’s shoulders, one shoulder blade rippling and tensing as her fingers worked, dresser thumping against the wall, keening moans rising up as if to set a new constellation in the ceiling, moans that were too high to be her own, too desperate, too —

Too hard, Erin’s head thudded back against the wall, dizzying, as a few kisses from the pad of Holtzmann’s thumb swept her over the edge, heels digging into the small of her back, fingers tight in Holtz’s hair. She was distantly aware of Holtzmann moaning into her chest, of the hand that been holding her hip steady now vanished, of the thudding of the dresser continuing even as she began to reassemble sanity and drift back down to earth… 

“Oh,” Erin whispered, “Oh, you’re —“

She raised a hand to run it through Holtzmann’s hair, loosened the grip of her legs, tipped her chin up. Holtzmann shuddered when she kissed her, hard, tongue flicking over the swell of her lower lip, bruised and swollen, before drifting over to her ear again. 

“Couldn’t wait, hm?”

She kissed, tenderly, at the crook of her neck, sighed into her, running her hand down over Holtzmann’s arm, to where her hand was pinned between her thighs, gently stroked over her wrist, felt Holtzmann stiffen, heard the groan, “Fuck, Erin —” before Holtz lurched closer, into her arms, panting out another half dozen mumbled curses until, at last, she relaxed, cheek pillowed against Erin’s shoulder. 

For a handful of heartbeats, neither spoke, filling the air with the hard breathing of delicious overexertion. Erin’s nose settled into Holtz’s hair, stroking down through the back of the twist that held it upright, twirling a curl around her thumb. 

“Well,” Holtzmann murmured at last, “Now I could eat.”

Erin laughed into her neck, felt Holtzmann’s smile against her chest, hummed at the kiss that followed.

“Then you’ll have to let go of my ass,” she murmured, reaching for the robe hanging on the peg next to her dresser, “So I can go get dinner.”

 

The kitchen was still littered with evidence of the incident, the ice pack sweating condensation into the towel Holtzmann had so roughly wrapped it in. Erin picked it up, threw it back in the freezer. Lord knows they’d both need it later, what with the bruises already blooming across her throat and chest. 

She licked her lips, quickly tossing the pasta in the sauce that had been bubbling on the stove, bearing two bowls and forks back to the bedroom.

Holtzmann was in her bed, under the covers, and if the pile of clothes on the floor was any indication, entirely naked.

“I thought you were hungry,” Erin mused, raising a brow as she stepped closer to the bed, setting the bowls down on the nightstand. 

Holtzmann tugged at the belt of her robe, pulling her into bed by her hips.

“I am,” Holtz replied, fingers wandering down over Erin’s stomach. 

She pressed, firmly, until Erin was on her back, sliding down the bed until her lips could kiss the bruises on her chest, and mark a new one at the base of her stomach. 

“Dessert first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just MIGHT do a little epilogue on this (with Patty and Abby at the diner, probably, this kinda turned out shorter than I thought it would), but for now this is the end of the story. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience! I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year, and it's been eating up a lot of my time. Trying to get all my fics updated, though, and I just couldn't leave this one unfinished.
> 
> This story wouldn't have been half as fun to write without all your comments, so thanks for the wild gay ride folks.
> 
> ...wait...
> 
> — MA


End file.
